Olympics
by QueenOfCitrus
Summary: IchiHitsu: tumor, n. An abnormal growth of tissue resulting from uncontrolled, progressive multiplication of cells and serving no physiological function; a neoplasm. One-Shot. Complete.


**_A/N: Just a little something to take my mind off exam revision._**

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_Olympics_

Toushiro peers into the room with the apprehension of an intruder just about to breach the borders of someone else's property. The sight of the clean white bed and the always so banally described sterile environment makes his throat run dry in a manner that is way too familiar by now, and way too personal. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why this building has this effect on him – he's not the patient after all, and he's not the one who has to blend with the disinfectant, the illnesses and the doctors for days and night to no end – but perhaps if the circumstances were reversed, if he had no choice and was not allowed to leave without permission, he'd have a different outlook on the situation. Toushiro has been in this hospital about a hundred times already, and the distressing factor never seems to go away. Curiously enough, neither does the sense of misfit, the improper manner in which Ichigo's body always seems to emerge among the white sheets, and stand out, yet become a little bit fuzzy and washed out around the edges; the picture perfect of a comely ghost.

"Hey," Toushiro offers with a small smile, relieved when Ichigo turns his head to him and manages a tired grin. "How's it going?"

"Tumor's doing well, thank you very much. Me?" the carrot-top chuckles. "Not so much. I'll miss it horribly."

Toushiro clutches the laptop tighter to his chest, feeling a little stupid for bringing the thing along all of a sudden, but then, eventually, his half-numb feet carry him into the room and ultimately bring him to a stand beside the hospital bed.

"What's that?" Ichigo asks, pushing himself a little higher up on the bed so he can see better. "What have you brought me this time?"

"Oh. Nothing much. I thought maybe you'd like to watch the opening ceremony. Knowing you, you've probably missed it."

The merciless way in which Ichigo slaps his forehead makes Toushiro flinch, even though he knows it's completely unreasonable to be worried about a head injury. Ichig might be sick, but he's not glass-thin; he won't break with the flicker of a finger... To his relief, Ichigo lets out a long, deep chuckle and reaches behind him to adjust the pillows.

"Ah, I completely forgot about that! Nice thinking, Wanna makes yourself at home?" And he scoots over to give the smaller male some space on the, admittedly, already very narrow mattress. Toushiro hesitates for a moment before timidly sitting down on the bed next to Ichigo. After a gentle, humorous prompt, he even kicks his shoes off and lifts his feet on the cover wriggling his toes (oh, beloved, Christmas socks!) at the newly found freedom. The laptop begins buzzing with life on command, and for a couple of seconds the room falls deadly quiet, safe for the distillated sound of machinery. Toushiro realized he is chewing on his bottom lip only when his pointy eye-tooth digs a bit too deep in the flesh near the corner of his mouth and makes him wince.

"Kurosaki?"

"Yep?"

The laptop is still loading. Toushiro kindda wishes he didn't have that many icons on his desktop – they slow down the computer apparently, or so he's been told.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, very quietly, and immediately wishes he hasn't said a thing. Instead of blurting some bitter remark, Ichigo turns to look at him with the corner of his eye, a strangely serious, contemplative expression spreading across his features as he regards his visitor.

"Why would I be nervous?" he asks, arching a brow. "I'm not the one who has to _perform_ the operation. I just get to lie down and sleep."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"No buts," the carrot-top says, tutting accusingly as he lifts an arm and casually drapes it around Toushiro's shoulders, giving the smaller male a gentle squeeze. "Let's watch the Olympics now. And next week, after the surgery, we'll go see a movie or something."

Toushiro can't help but laugh soundlessly at the suggestion even though the dull pain in his chest refuses to die away. He doesn't have the heart to say that Ichigo probably wouldn't be discharged by then, even if the procedure is deemed successful. _But it will be, _he tells himself, they'd just need to watch a few more hours of Olympics in the hospital bed before things go back to normal…


End file.
